


Airtight

by wendymr



Category: Lewis (TV)
Genre: Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Near-Death Experience
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-03
Updated: 2014-08-03
Packaged: 2018-02-11 13:28:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2070000
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wendymr/pseuds/wendymr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“Face it, man, we’re trapped. There’s no way out of this.”</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Airtight

**Author's Note:**

  * For [uniquepov](https://archiveofourown.org/users/uniquepov/gifts).



“James.”

“Sir?” James turns slightly to glance at Robbie, but doesn’t stop what he’s doing — holding his phone as high as he can next to the cellar’s solid steel door, trying to get a signal. Unsuccessfully, as has been the result every time he’s tried over the past four hours.

“Come an’ sit down.” Robbie beckons him over. “Face it, man, we’re trapped. There’s no way out of this.”

James turns fully this time, an anguished expression on his face. “We can’t give up. I... You’ve got to get out of here, sir. Your daughter and son... your grandson...”

_They’ve already lost their mother._ James doesn’t have to say it; it’s written all over his face. And, yes, it’s true, but there’s bugger all Robbie can do about it.

“Look, we’ve tried everything we can. This place is sealed tight as a drum, and neither of us can get a signal. An’ that means our phones can’t be traced, either.”

“I know.” James rakes shaking hands through his hair, making it stick up. “But there has to be something...”

“And we’ve been trying to think of something for hours. You’re near-hoarse from shouting, and our phones are almost out of power with everything you’ve been trying. Come and sit down,” he repeats.

James still hesitates, and it doesn’t take a detective to see why. Guilt’s written all over his face, despite Robbie’s efforts throughout their incarceration to convince the lad this isn’t his fault.

This had all started so innocuously; a tip that a man who hadn’t come to their attention earlier might have been a witness to the murder they’re currently investigating. He and James had driven over, expecting to spend perhaps ten minutes with the man, asking half a dozen questions.

Instead, they’d ended up locked in the reinforced cellar of a survivalist who resents all forces of law and order. 

They’d shown their warrant cards as soon as Barratt had opened the door. Instantly, he’d shoved a shotgun into James’s chest. “Filthy government lackeys. Inside with you.”

“Go, sir. Leave me,” James had said immediately, voice tight with anxiety.

“You leave and he’s dead where he stands,” Barratt had retorted, pushing the gun sharply into James again.

“And I arrest you for murdering a police officer,” Robbie’d replied, keeping his voice calm. “You really don’t want that. Put the gun down now and the most you’d get is a charge of threatening an officer.”

“Scum.” Barratt had spat at Robbie. “Get inside.”

James had stepped forward, and Robbie knew the bloke had intended him to get away, or at least call for backup, but Robbie couldn’t take the risk that Barratt would actually follow through and shoot James. So he’d walked into the house as well. The only thing he had taken the risk of doing was reaching into his pocket and pressing the emergency button on his phone. Which hadn’t done them any good, since Barratt — obviously suffering from paranoid delusions about government spying — had some sort of blocking technology installed in the house.

And now they’re locked in Barratt’s steel-lined, air-tight cellar, which is only about eight feet by six, with no way out, and apparently no way of surviving. 

James had calculated, not long after they’d been locked in and had confirmed the lack of signal on their phones, that there was probably enough air to last close to twenty-four hours. Less, if he took into account the effect of the bare lightbulb in the room. “The carbon dioxide concentration will get us long before that, though, sir.”

And any kind of stress or strenuous activity — such as James shouting for help, or pacing around the room on the pretext of looking for a signal — will only generate more CO2, meaning they’ll lose consciousness and die even sooner.

Not that he’s wanting to be defeatist about this — but he’s a realist. He’s been in tight spots before; this certainly isn’t the first time he’s thought he was going to die. Before, he’s been lucky: he managed to escape, or his attacker didn’t hit him as hard as they’d intended — and, of course, that memorable time when Morse rescued him from the insane woman who’d made him dig his own grave. James’s reflexes have saved him from serious harm a time or two, as well.

This time, logically, he can’t see any way out. But even if there is something they’ve overlooked, it can’t hurt to take a break. 

James lowers himself to the floor beside Robbie, wrapping his arms around his raised knees and burying his head between them. 

“Oi.” Robbie pats the lad’s shoulder. “Least you can do is talk to me, eh?”

He expects James to protest that talking will only use precious oxygen, but instead the lad throws his head back. “Sorry, sir. I... Christ, I’m sorry.”

“Not your fault, lad.” He lets his hand stay on James’s shoulder. “Look, I dunno if we’ll get out of here or not, but in case we don’t... well, I don’t want to waste what little time we might have left.”

“Waste?” James looks at him this time, and his tortured expression near-breaks Robbie’s heart.

Robbie scratches at an eyebrow with his free hand. “It’s been seven years, yeah? Never said it, but you deserve to know. Couldn’t’ve asked for a better sergeant — or a better mate.”

“Don’t.” James’s voice cracks on the word. “Sir, please—“

“You should know. If we get out of here, I never said it, all right?” He gives James a mocking grin.

That gets him a reluctant smile in return, and a nod. “All right. And you... I’ve been incredibly lucky to have you as a governor, sir. You’ve not only been the best mentor I could have had, but the kindest person I’ve ever known.” For a brief moment, James meets his gaze, and then he ducks his head; Robbie can see a red tinge appearing on his face.

He shifts his arm from James’s shoulders and reaches for the lad’s hand. “Ah, sod the work stuff. If this is gonna be our last day together, let’s go out as friends, all right? Robbie. Not sir.”

James grips his hand. “Robbie. What I said still applies.”

“Me too.”

They sit in silence for a while, hands still joined, and Robbie stares at the opposite wall. If they can’t get out of here, James is right: his kids will have lost both parents, and young Matthew his granddad. But Lyn will be okay. Robbie has to believe that. She’s got Tim, and Tim’s parents, who are a decent couple and genuinely fond of their daughter-in-law. Mark... well, they haven’t been close in years.

What he doesn’t know is who James will be leaving behind. Does the lad even have family? He’s never mentioned any, and never encouraged any questions about his personal life. If there ever was a time to ask, it’d be now. But... well, best not, perhaps. James has never referred to his background again, not since Crevecoeur, but Robbie thinks it very likely that his parents are dead. And if he’d had siblings, surely he would have mentioned that fact at least once? Robbie’d mentioned his brother to Murray Hawes; if James did have a brother or sister, it would’ve been natural for him to say so later.

He’s suspected for some time that he himself is probably the closest thing to family that James has. 

Some time later, a beep of protest breaks the silence. James’s phone has just died. James’s eyes close, and he bangs his head several times against his knees. Robbie squeezes his hand tighter. “We knew there was no chance of a signal anyway.” 

“I know.” James sighs. “I wish you’d got away when you could, sir. Lyn... your grandson...”

“I followed procedure, you know that. Take the least risk possible. He said he’d kill you if I left. By staying, there was a chance that the two of us together could overpower him. It was the obvious choice.” And this is an argument they’ve had at least half a dozen times since being locked in here.

Though there’s something else he hasn’t said before. He bumps James’s shoulder. “Besides, you’d have been here on your own, then. Or dead. No chance.” James turns sharply to look at him, shock in his eyes. “What, you think I’d rather be safe while you’re either trapped or dead? What do you take me for?”

For a long moment, James seems to be struggling for words. Then he finally says, simply, “Thank you. I’m... glad I’m not alone.”

“Good.” Robbie squeezes his hand again.

A few minutes later, something occurs to him. “James, I dunno if... If there’s anything you’ve ever wanted from me, or wanted to know, well... I suppose there won’t be a better time to ask, eh?”

James doesn’t answer, but just for a moment his eyes widen in a way that tells Robbie there is something he wants. “Go on, then,” he says, encouraging. “I mean it — whatever you want.” 

There’s a brief pause, then James shakes his head. “I couldn’t.”

“Yeah, you can. What is it?”

“I...” He dips his head again. “You’d — it’s not something you’d want, and it’d be embarrassing for both of us.”

Now he’s intrigued, along with the strong urge he already had to give the lad something meaningful in what’s probably going to be the last few hours of their lives. “Don’t think I care whether or not something might be embarrassing. Not in the circumstances. Come on.” He bumps James’s shoulder again. “Tell me.”

There’s another lengthy pause, and he’s just about concluded that James isn’t going to answer when, abruptly, the lad speaks. “I want to kiss you.”

“Eh?” Whatever he might have been expecting, it wasn’t that.

“Said you wouldn’t want it.” James starts to pull away, but Robbie tightens his grip on the bloke’s hand again. 

“Just surprised, that’s all. I don’t mind. Go on.” Well, he might mind; it’s not something he’s ever considered, kissing James. Kissing any bloke, for that matter. But this _is_ James, and he’s more than fond of the lad. Loves him, really, like the best mate he’s ever had. And what harm can one kiss do now? “Go on,” he repeats, leaning in closer.

James shifts and, with his free hand, reaches up to cup Robbie’s face — and then he’s leaning in and warm lips are pressing against Robbie’s, brushing and then pressing harder. And at first all Robbie’s aware of is pressure, and the smell of nicotine, and stubble rasping against his cheek and chin. But then something changes, and none of those matter any more, because he’s being _kissed_ , and it’s bloody brilliant, and nothing’s more important than kissing James back.

James’s lips part against his, and Robbie takes advantage of the freedom to deepen the kiss. At the same time, he’s wrapping his arms around the lad, and James is doing the same, gripping Robbie as if he never wants to let go. And... Christ, if this goes on much longer Robbie’ll be in danger of embarrassing himself.

It’s James who breaks away, breathing heavily. “We’ll use up what’s left of the oxygen if we keep this up,” he mutters, and he’s sounding sheepish. “Sorry — didn’t mean to get carried away.”

Robbie rests his head against his awkward lad’s forehead. “S’all right. Reckon we both did. An’ if we did use up all the air, there’s a lot worse ways to go.”

A surprised shout of laughter comes from James, and Robbie hugs him for it.

* * *

They’re sitting wrapped in each other’s arms, where they’ve been for about the past hour. The air’s getting thinner; Robbie can feel it, and he knows James can too. The bloke hasn’t moved, hasn’t once mentioned trying to find a signal again. 

If they’re going to die, Robbie’s decided, he’d rather do it like this, with each other for comfort and company. And he thinks James feels the same way.

“Since it’s probably close to the last chance I’ll get to say it,” James says, his tone soft, “I want you to know that I love you. I have for... well, a long time.” 

It’s a shock, and yet it’s not. Robbie’s known for years, hasn’t he? They’ve never acknowledged it, either of them, but he _has_ known. He holds James tighter. “Love you too, bonny lad. And, yeah, it’s been a while.”

Bloody shame they never got to this point sooner, though. They could have had time together as more than colleagues, more than friends. James could have had the security of knowing that he’s loved and wanted — something Robbie’s very certain he hasn’t had in a long time, if at all.

It’s no-one’s fault that they didn’t realise sooner, didn’t say anything. Neither of them’s the type for romantic declarations, as a rule, and their professional relationship made it even more difficult. 

James leans in and kisses him again and, while that doesn’t make up for the missed opportunities, it’s something.

* * *

“Inspector Lewis! Sergeant Hathaway!”

Robbie starts at the sound of voices, and shakes James, who seems to have fallen asleep on his shoulder. He shouts out a response, and they’re both standing when the door bursts open to reveal a tactical response team.

The next couple of hours go by in a blur. It turns out that a couple of the DCs got concerned when he and James failed to return to the station, and the alarm was raised. 

No-one knew where they’d gone, so an alert went out for Robbie’s car, and Gurdip tried to trace their phones. The best he could do was to pinpoint the location of the last call either of them had made, which was about a quarter of a mile from Barratt’s house, and an intense search was launched. Once Robbie’s car was found, it was a matter of minutes before a neighbour reported that Barratt was “a bit of a nutter” and very anti-police, and then one of the uniforms had looked through the letterbox and spotted James’s warrant card on the hall carpet. It had taken longer to get the tactical team out once the officer had found the cellar, though.

The room must have been soundproofed as well, because the officers had been shouting for the two of them for at least half an hour, and neither he nor James had heard a thing. They’re lucky the team persevered, Robbie reflects as the two of them are driven to the John Radcliffe to be checked over.

Barratt’s long gone, of course, but there’s a warrant out for his arrest and his description’s being circulated to every force and station in the country. He won’t be a fugitive for long. 

After they’re cleared as suffering no ill-effects from their ordeal, a PC drives the two of them back to the station, where they have to give statements — separately — and then brief Innocent. Finally, she’s got all she needs. “There’ll be an investigation, of course, which may result in recommendations concerning appropriate procedure — but as far as I can see, there was nothing either of you could have done that would have prevented this.” She gives the two of them a concerned frown. “Go. I don’t want to see you in my nick before tomorrow.”

* * *

Robbie’s car hasn’t been brought back to the station yet; it has to be examined by SOCO just in case Barratt went anywhere near it. So he has to rely on James for a lift. 

The lad’s quiet in the car, and he’s avoiding Robbie’s gaze. And, again, it doesn’t take a detective to work out why. So, when James pulls up outside his flat, Robbie lays his hand over James’s where it’s gripping the steering-wheel. “You’re coming inside, bonny lad.”

Instantly, James turns to look at him. His eyes widen and an expression of relief starts to dawn on his face. Robbie smiles fondly and squeezes James’s hand before letting go. “Yeah. Thought as much.”

Inside, James leans against the kitchen counter, chewing his lip. “I... didn’t want to take anything for granted. I mean, it’s not fair to hold you to something you said or did when you thought you were going to die.”

“Don’t tend to say things I don’t mean,” Robbie points out. “Even if I do think I’m going to die.”

“Still.” Bloody daft sod’s still trying to give him a way out. 

Robbie shakes his head, then walks deliberately over to James. “This feel like I don’t want to be held to it?” He reaches up and cups the back of James’s head, tugging the lad down to him, and kisses him, gentle and lingering.

James practically folds into him, all the tension he’s been carrying over the last couple of hours vanishing. “Robbie...” He seems to be struggling for words, but then gives up and buries his face in Robbie’s neck.

“You’re all right,” Robbie murmurs. “We’re all right.”

“Yeah.” James looks up then, emotion burning in his eyes. “I’m glad. I wouldn’t have wanted you...” He shakes his head, then adds, “All the same, I’m almost grateful to Barratt. This wouldn’t have happened without him.”

Robbie shrugs. “Maybe, maybe not. We might’ve got there on our own sooner or later.”

“Possibly. Can’t see me asking to kiss you under any other circumstances.” James smiles wryly. “Or you agreeing.”

“You never know. I like kissing, me,” Robbie points out. “Might’ve said yes just to call your bluff.”

“And I might not have been bluffing.”

Robbie grins. “You better not be bluffing now, bonny lad.”

James slides his long fingers into Robbie’s hair, bringing their faces close again. “I never bluff,” he whispers, then proves it by kissing Robbie thoroughly and very satisfyingly.

* * *


End file.
